


Tales of Light and Ash

by Cyrulan



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Mirkwood, Original Character(s), Rohan, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-31
Updated: 2017-01-14
Packaged: 2018-03-04 11:30:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3066218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cyrulan/pseuds/Cyrulan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>It was not until the King then chose to see</i><br/><i>And his eyes then spoke wonders of a light beyond his trees.</i><br/><i>But grief then cast upon him when beyond the forest told</i><br/><i>Of an ancient evil that grasped Men's heart of old.</i> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>  The Riddermark was not as it should be. Edoras housed a king that many would not accept. To fight a war was to ask for defeat, but to remain silent was to surrender. In time of desperation, a horse-rider wanders the land of Rohan in an attempt to unite a broken land.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Of the Strange Guide

The lands surrounding these woods have grown dark as centuries passed, as most surely have heard from the tales and dirges. Not many dared to enter the woods of the Elven King of Mirkwood, as they had no wish to part with their lives. Most of those who had the courage and, perhaps, the folly of passing through the forest of the ancient woods did not possess the luck of seeing the Silvan Elves that often lingered in the heart of their forest, for many perish before ever reaching past the borders.

These were the whispers that surrounded King Thranduil's domain.

It was a danger to follow through the dark pathways of the forests forged by the Dwarves of old, as many had faded and disappeared with time, and it was not easy to use the surroundings for guidance, as the harsh rivers were often misleading and poisoned fogs treacherous. If the wanderers had been blessed with a keen sense of direction, then most likely their fates would end by the hands of the growing evil of Dol Guldur, for at this Age, such things were not uncommon.

"We will soon be facing many hardships once we enter King Thranduil's domain," said Areth quietly, as if she feared the slightest raise of her voice would bring the evil of the land upon her. Brushing her hand on the horse's mane, she soon brought him to a halt.

They have reached the borders of Mirkwood Forest.

"We will take our rest here," said Areth as her green eyes looked to the sky. The sun had yet to descend, but the wanderer was wary of the dangers that often lurked in the Silvan Elves' domain.

"No, we will continue on," said Aldamir, shaking his head. Always, he was adamant to go against his companion's decisions. "The day is young. Surely, if we were to enter now, we are bound to find our way in the halls of the Elven King."

"Once we enter this dark forest, we are bound to nothing but our fates," said Areth grimly, glancing sideways at the man. "We will take our rest."

Her decision was final. She knew Aldamir resented her for what he considered was an imperious attitude. As it was he who hired her as a guide through the eastern lands of Middle Earth, he felt it should be his decision should they move. Areth's answer remained the same, however.

_You hired me to be your guide, and your guide I shall be._

Areth had yet to lead him astray, and yet, his nature prevented him from fully giving her his entire confidence. He was a Gondorian scholar—he locked himself up in libraries studying endlessly about the lands of Middle Earth known to man—surely he knew a fair amount better than this wanderer.

And also, there remained the fact that she was a woman. Aldamir studied her as she swiftly dismounted her horse and ran a gentle hand on the creature's neck.  _A rather small one, at that_. He didn't know how she could protect him from danger when she barely looked apt to protect herself.

If she noticed any doubts on his part, it didn't particularly look like Areth cared either way. She always seemed indifferent to everything except her duty. It was not that she was uncaring, but Aldamir deemed her far too reserved. Areth seldom spoke to him, save for the few times when absolutely necessary.

The fading light of dusk soon coated the hills and mountains of the North. The companions prepared for the night, and though Areth said nothing, she did hope that Aldamir would relish their last night of true rest.

It was silent save for the crackling of the fire and the slight movement of the leaves. Areth's solemn green eyes reflected the shadows of the Greenwood Forest. She dared not look away. She sat with her back against the fire, her arms wrapped around her bent legs.

Aldamir leaned as close as he could to the burning flames without getting burned, as it provided the only light. He pulled out a small, leather-bound book from his breast pocket and quickly sketched the silhouette of Mirkwood. With a sharp sigh of exasperation, Aldamir snapped the book shut before shoving it once again in his vest.

"This will not do," he uttered, shaking his head, "This simply will not do."

"It would be best if we were to remain silent by these parts," said Areth in a hushed whisper. Hearing a loud rustle from the woods, she paused. Areth thought she saw the flash of eyes. Her hand twitched, as if preparing to grasp her bow. "I do not feel safe here."

Aldamir felt that familiar twinge of irrational irritation. "If you feel so compelled to leave, then go fetch us something to eat."

A faint growl was heard. Aldamir started, but was quick to brush it off as the wind.

"I would not deem it wise, for these lands are the dwelling of the Skin Changer," she said. Though her voice remained even as it had been before, it became noticeably colder. "He does not tolerate hostility in his home."

Areth once again caught a faint shine reflect in the forest, which caused her to quickly grasp her bow. Just as she prepared to pull an arrow with her other hand, a shadow in the form of a great animal seemed to move, disappearing entirely behind the great trees. The wanderer's green eyes narrowed, and while she retreated back to her original calm position on the grass, her wariness did not waver.

"What is it?" said Aldamir, his grey eyes widening as his eyes attempted to adjust to darkness, "Areth?"

His eyes caught the shadow of a large bear.

"Ease your mind and get your rest," Areth said softly, her chin resting in her folded knees.

As Aldamir's head brushed against the ground's tickling grass, he shut his eyes. The last vision he saw was of the wanderer's golden hair, for even despite the darkness, it seemed to radiate with the rays of the light.

* * *

"Once we enter the forest, our lives are no longer our own. Step with caution," Areth said.

She paused. For a brief moment, the wanderer faltered, for as she looked past the tall trees, she could have sworn that she saw the waiting eyes of their…

Areth shook her head. She would carry on her duty to Aldamir.

"Take only what you can carry. We will walk from here on out," she said, turning. Discarding the saddles from the backs of the two horses, she bid them a final farewell in the language of the Eorlingas before releasing them.

She stared after their fleeting companions as they made their way back to the safer lands of the Skin Changer. They will return to the Mark. Areth's green eyes softened when they disappeared. Never before had she felt such sadness at parting from their company.

The sun was bright, the sky clear. Areth bowed her head and whispered a silent farewell to the familiar sight around her.

After all, this might possibly be the last time she would be able to do so.

* * *

The tales and songs did not paint an accurate picture of the darkness that surrounded Mirkwood. It portrayed the dangers, but words were not enough to fully depict a harsh reality. Aldamir in particular viewed the tales as simple stories—from his departure from Minas Tirith, not once did he consider the dangers alluded in their songs. So vague it was that the scholar brushed it off as mere legends.

He would have done well to pay heed to their warnings.

"I underestimated the darkness of these woods," said Aldamir in a hushed whisper. He dared not raise his voice beyond Areth's hearing range. The air felt limited and he felt that talking would waste it.

Areth did not answer and, instead, pulled a thick branch back and allowed Aldamir to pass through. He took no notice, however, as his nose was buried in his leather-bound journal. The efforts were futile, as the words seemed to blur together to cast a shadow.

"Oh, confound it all," he breathed. He put the item away and wiped the sweat from his brow. The hot air entrapped within the forest of Mirkwood was suffocating.

Aldamir felt wary. Every sound he heard seemed to resonate through the entire forest and it brought him to an edge. The uncertainty of the forest was driving him close to madness and the fear was ever so present within him. He kept close to his guide.

"We should use the main road, where there is light," said Aldamir.

"No," Areth's response was quick, "The darkness will protect us from danger. We will be spotted in broad light."

Areth was in no better state. As she walked, her attitude remained rigid and her grip on the bow was unyielding while her other hand was kept a short distance from the dagger attached to her belt. Her temper was also evidently shorter upon their second day. Areth's usually bright green eyes were hooded with trepidation.

It had been like this for several days.

The travel wore Aldamir down and as the hours passed, so did his temperament and better judgment. Their supply of food and water was bound to run out eventually. In fact, the rations became smaller and smaller, and while Aldamir did not mind the food shortage, the effects of dehydration was slowly beginning to affect him.

"Confound it all," Aldamir hissed for the umpteenth time as he harshly wiped the dripping sweat from his forehead, "This wretched forest's name is rightly deserved. It is as dark as the tales."

"You should not have entertained the idea of entering Mirkwood if you are going to complain for the rest of our journey," Areth said as she lifted her gloved hand to push against a thick, twisting branch, "But in spite of this overall folly, you did manage to do one thing right."

"And what's that?" he said irritably as he was almost hit by the swinging branch. Aldamir's eyes narrowed at his guide. She did it on purpose, he knew.

"You sought my assistance," she said simply, repressing her annoyance.

Aldamir scoffed. "Your arrogance is unbecoming. Do not speak of things that you know nothing of. You know not of my purpose, so do not accuse me of folly."

"Have you deluded yourself in believing that you can survive the perils of Mirkwood without assistance?" Areth said, her tone much sharper that it was before. "If so, then  _please_ , lead the way," she gave an exaggerated gesture towards the darkness.

Aldamir stared at the wanderer with resentment, but did not move. He merely lifted his chin higher. Now he realized why he disliked her—Areth always seemed to undermine him.

"You speak of arrogance, and here I wonder which of us truly deserves the title," she muttered as she tightened the leather strap of her bow carrier.

"And  _what_  is that supposed to mean?" snapped Aldamir.

"It means you overestimate your importance, you pretentious  _child_ ," Areth snapped back.

Aldamir's grey eyes widened visibly in surprise at Areth's cross response. Feeling like a berated adolescent, he raised his chin indignantly, as if in rebellion.

It seemed that his sentiments were reciprocated. A tense barrier of silence seemed to make its way around them.

* * *

A few more days passed.

To Aldamir, there seemed to be no end. Long had he given up with identifying the species and names of the plants that grew about the route that they took, as in the darkness, everything looked the same. Everything was dark. Everything was a shadow.

His focus was instead on his aching muscles and a painful itch on his palms that seemed determined to be acknowledged.

"We will stop here," Aldamir breathed finally. His energy was spent.

"That is not wise," said Areth. Her voice was as quiet as it usually was before they entered the forest and yet it seemed a shout in such a silent, eerie place.

"Areth, I can walk no longer," he hissed.

Aldamir no longer held feeling in his hands. It felt as if someone had cut them off. He stifled a groan, but he could prolong it no longer. His foot caught on a branch and he was forced on his knees and yelled when his palms scraped against the ground. While he had ignored the sting for the past hour, the intensified pain was not something that Aldamir had seen coming. Soon, it was not only his hands that felt pain, and it seemed to attack his entire body.

Areth's reaction was swift, as if she had seen it coming and was prepared. Without letting go of her wooden bow, she grabbed onto the back of her companion's collared shirt, preventing him from falling face flat on a jagged rock. Steadying him by his shoulders, Areth kneeled in front of Aldamir.

Areth was barely recognizable in Aldamir's eyes. The edges of his vision were beginning to blur together, and barely anything was distinguishable. To him, the figure leaning before him was a bright torch of yellow light that brought the only clarity in this damp, cheerless desolation.

With her brow creased in worry and concentration, Areth quickly inspected Aldamir for any possible injuries. She checked for any ripped clothing and cuts that might have allowed any sorts of poison to contaminate his blood.

Gripping pale palms in her leather-clad hands, Areth narrowed her green eyes upon the severe swelling that expanded from his wrists to his finger-tips. She was alarmed to see that it had turned a dark shade of purple underneath his fair skin, as if a dark shadow was extending throughout his hands.

"You fool, what have you done?" she muttered as she lowered him to the ground, setting his pack as a head rest, "This is a gradual infection. When did you notice this?"

"A… day ago, perhaps," Aldamir managed to wheeze out. Pulling on her glove, Areth checked his forehead. His brow was heated.

"You did not think it important to tell me?"

"I thought that it would pass," Aldamir weakly defended, "I am… stronger than you think."

"Oh, the wisdom of a scholar," Areth bit with great sarcasm, "Do you not realize the peril you now put both of us through? Now, we are vulnerable to any attack."

It made no difference to Aldamir whether or not he was standing or lying, as the pain did not once falter. To his utter horror, he found it hard to breathe. His grey eyes widened as he stared up at the pale blur that was Areth and without any words exchanged, the wanderer seemed to know what he was trying to say.

"I had not encountered any such an injury…" she muttered as she brought his head higher. It did not help. "I do not have the skill to heal this. It is hard enough without proper light."

Areth, still perched upon one knee, spared a glance upwards to the tall trees. It lead to no avail, however, as the thick leaves and branches did not allow even the sliver of light to pass through. She let out a heavy exhale and wiped the growing moisture on her brow. With narrowed green eyes, Areth slowly placed the bow again on her back, as if she feared the danger might suddenly come the moment she was defenseless.

"We have no choice but to rest here tonight," said Areth in defeat. She slowly looked around the area, green eyes searching. "But I fear the worst. We have yet to reach the dwelling of the Silvan Elves. We are not free from danger."

"It matters not," Aldamir muttered in a muted groan, "For I seem… to be perishing from my own… folly."

"Indeed," was Areth's dry response. However much she played at indifference, had Aldamir been coherent, he would have surely caught the anxious worry in her eyes. "I cannot work without light."

With the swiftness that only came from the practice of experience, Areth gathered fallen sticks and branches, though she was careful to not stray too far from Aldamir. Not only was he vulnerable to the unknown, but also to his own blood.

_Folly, indeed,_ she thought as she worked to make a flame. When smoke began to rise from the slightly damp collection of wood, Areth quickly blew on it. The glowing embers grew stronger and soon, a small flame engulfed the bark.

_The enemies are now sure to know our location._ And even after she had taken the necessary precautions, it all led for naught. A waste, it all became. They might as well have traveled on the lit path of Mirkwood. Areth took such lengths to avoid the southern routes as best as she could.  _Although, I suppose it is better to be on the border rather than in the direct sight of Dol Guldur,_ she thought grimly.

Still, being away from the direct lands of Dol Guldur did not separate them from its influences. The darkness from that wretched place spread much like Aldamir's poison, holding clutches upon its heart. The hold of its darkness was unyielding. Though the evil of Dol Guldur was not so powerful in the northern boundaries, Areth acknowledged that it was, indeed, growing.

While Areth and Aldamir were located at the border that she knew the Silvan Elves still protected, their security was not guaranteed. They protected their lands, but she was not certain about travelers. King Thranduil was not known for his hostility, but neither was he known for his warmth.

Areth stared at the smoke as it rose from the licking flames of the fire.  _Someone is bound to see this. Someone is bound to see_ us _._

The guide wasted no time. Throwing her own bag to the ground, Areth, still supported on one knee that was digging on the soil, leaned over the shivering Gondorian scholar. She was quick to pull her dagger. A flash of regret came over her green eyes. There was no other alternative. It would be painful, but he would recover from wounds, whereas there would be no return from death.

Upon the flickering of the flames, Areth was quick to notice the small, barely noticeable red marks at the tips of his fingers. They looked like the piercings from needles. She brought his hands open and made a quick slash at his pale palms. Dark blood was quick to pool like water, dripping thickly from the creases of his palm to the ground.

The pain from the poison was so severe that Aldamir did not even flinch. Areth clicked her tongue and her forest eyes narrowed as she regarded her foolish employer _. A scholar, indeed. He's more ignorant than a mountain troll._

Reaching for a leather pouch from inside her robe, she pulled out a salve of what looked to be herbs and applied it on the slashed wound. Aldamir hissed, but was otherwise too paralyzed to protest. Areth just hoped that it was enough to draw out the poison.

"Had you told me sooner, I could have guaranteed that you would be able to keep your hands," she murmured half-heartedly as she wrapped his palms with bandages. Even then, she would not have been able to guarantee anything.

Aldamir was instantly visibly alarmed. As his body was still paralyzed, he could do no more that let out an odd sound.

The herbs would surely draw out the poison, but Areth knew that her skills were limited. She was not a healer and had no desire to take responsibility for the life of the sick and dying. Areth knew that she would have to get help soon.

Staring into the dark abyss of their route, the guide knew that it was far too late to turn back to the Skin Changer's dwelling. It had taken them days to reach their current location and turning back was a sure guarantee for Aldamir's death. Areth contemplated looking along the forests for more herbs, but already she knew that it would lead to no avail. Her options were limited, she knew, and events were rarely predictable in such a dark place. Areth contemplated seeking the aid of the Istar that was said to live about these borders, and yet, she would probably have a better chance finding the Silvan Elves before finding Radagast the Brown.

Staring into the crackling flames of the fire, Areth knew that it would not be long before the shadows of Dol Guldur found them. Using her bent knee as leverage, Areth pushed herself to stand and felt the wave of dehydration hit her. With the combination of the stifling air and the heat, it was all suffocating.

What Aldamir wished to accomplish by entering the Forest of Fear, Areth did not know, but she was certain this was not it. Stiff and paralyzed, here Aldamir laid by the fire with limbs far too heavy to lift and eyes far too tired to open. He was vulnerable.

Still, she held true to her duty. Whatever danger might follow after, Areth knew that she must do something to lead the shadow astray.

Areth frowned as she looked over at her employer. Though he not had control of his hands, Aldamir had yet to regain full coherency of his surroundings. He would be a liability and she would surely finish much quicker if she were to do it alone.

"I need for you to stay here," Areth suddenly said. Her voice seemed like a knife cutting through the thick silence. Her green eyes briefly glanced over his still form and then muttered, "Not that you have a will to do otherwise."

Unclasping her cloak from around her shoulder, she threw it over the fire and kicked on the muffled flames until the rise of smoke was all that was left.

Areth then kneeled over Aldamir, close enough so that his half-lidded eyes were able to know that she was there. Taking a dagger from her belt, she grasped his dirty, bandaged hand. Areth felt him stiffen slightly, but assuring him that he was in no danger, she then wrapped his fingers around the weapon's hilt.

"Just in case you are in danger," Areth whispered as she set his hand back over his chest. She grabbed her bow and prepared to leave. "You will be able to move soon enough."

Aldamir's grasp tightened slightly and his grey eyes blinked once, telling her that he understood. Pausing for a brief moment, Areth sat before him with her legs folded. She regarded him with softened green eyes, and though his vision was all a blur, Aldamir somehow knew that she was smiling.

The wanderer touched his damp hair.

"I will return, my friend."

And soon enough, Areth was gone.

* * *

Areth could already feel the weariness from her spent energy. Though a small ration of food remained with Aldamir, the fresh water was spent, as she had used the last to clean the scholar's wounds. As she swiftly evaded the trees and their tangled branches, Areth felt a faint throbbing emitting from her temples. There was not much time left to waste, however.

In two different locations, some distance on the east of their camp, Areth was quick to light a fire. It would buy them some time to evade the watchful eyes of danger. She only hoped that the light emanating from the newly-made flames would have caught greater attention than the small fire she made at their resting location.

Entrapping the branch between her palms, she quickly rubbed them together in repeated motion. Just when smoke began to rise and the faint glow of the fire began to form, the thick silence was broken by heavy footsteps and a loud yell.

Dropping the stick and letting the embers die, Areth's brow narrowed over her green eyes, for she recognized the voice to be Aldamir's. The guide grabbed her bow and went on a full sprint towards camp.

Areth berated herself internally. The odds were against her, as the one time she sent caution to the wind just happened to be the moment when caution was most necessary. She should have moved Aldamir's limp body away from their camp before leaving him with no defense but a dagger.

Keeping her footing light, Areth positioned herself behind a tree, a few feet away from where she knew Aldamir was. His speech was incomprehensible, but his clumsy movements were defensive as his hand clutched at his arm. Though the poison had worn off somewhat, at the moment, he was really a danger to himself. That dagger was rather sharp.

Squinting her eyes, Areth attempted to spot the exact location of her enemies.  _Blast this darkness,_ she thought with aggravation. Taking an arrow from behind, she attempted to make as little noise as she could as she gently pulled at the string. Try as she might, the bow's tension made a soft creak.

Her green eyes widened considerably as an arrow rushed past her ear, effectively scratching her cheek and tearing the edge of her hood. Areth pulled her head back and pressed herself against the tree, her grip not once losing tension as she tried to calm her pounding heart.

It was indeed impressive that the strangers did not once utter a single sound since their arrival. Their presence arrived as swiftly, silently, and deadly as an arrow. Areth had no time to dwell on anything, however, as Aldamir was still in the mercy of the enemy.

His cries had never been a comfort to her ears until that moment— if anything, at least it assured her that he was alive.

Her eyes narrowed and her jaw tensed as her mind played over a foolish scenario. As dangerous and fatal as it was for her, Areth knew that she would not allow Aldamir to die.

Just as she was about to raise her bow, against the perpetual darkness of Mirkwood, a faint shine glittered at the edge of her vision.

Stabbed on the ground, traced with the slight crimson of her blood, lay an arrow that held the bearing of the Silvan Elves.

Though not entirely dropping her wariness, her heart felt the spark of a new hope.

" _Daro!_ " she yelled, her head turning to the side. Areth remained pressed against the tree. When she was met with only silence, she continued in Sindarin, " _We are no enemies of King Thranduil's Hall!"_

Hushed murmurings passed between the strangers and so soft were they that they could have been mistaken for the blowing of the wind. Even Aldamir's breathing quieted considerably.

A pause.

" _Pedig eghellen?_ " As was common for the Elvish race, the speaker's voice was deep and smooth while managing the tone of command. " _What business does a Grey Elf of the West and a Man of Gondor have in King Thranduil's forest?"_

" _I will answer your questions only if my friend and I are guaranteed our safety,"_ she uttered.

" _Lay down your arms and we will lay down ours,"_ said the elf's companion.

From Areth's perspective behind the tree, she could see neither of the Silvan Elves' silhouettes, though she was able to get a clear view of Aldamir's hunched outline, trembling against the strain of standing.

" _I-"_  Areth began hesitantly.

She was not so easily convinced with the only thing that can grant her security, though she knew that she was at a disadvantage as she stared at Aldamir. Making a resolve, she reluctantly brought the bow back with her arrows.

With her leather-clad palms raised in sign of assent, Areth stepped from behind the trees and slowly made her way towards Aldamir and took the dagger from his hands. She noticed that it was still swollen and infected. Her eyes flashed as she spotted his wounded arm. As she did so, two tall figures hopped down from the branches of the trees right above them, their cloaks and fair hair swaying with their movement.

Still, Areth was wary of them. Almost instinctively, she stood in front of Aldamir. However, she complied with their wishes and pulled down her hood in a sign of temporary alliance.

" _I am not so easily deceived. I see that you are telling the truth,"_ said Areth. As custom of the Wood Elves, she placed a hand upon her breast and lowered her head slightly in greeting. " _Le suilon_ ," she said, though her voice indicated otherwise, " _I am Areth and my companion is Aldamir, son of Gondor_."

" _A human woman!_ " one of them exclaimed, " _Goheno nin. I thought you were of Elven kind. Your accent is that of the Western lands, as in Imladris_."

Aldamir's limbs felt heavy. He knew that he would not last much longer.

Areth seemed to sense that time was running short and instead of prolonging their conversation, she was quick to interfere. The guide brought Aldamir's uninjured arm around her neck and the addressed the two Silvan Elves with solemn eyes.

" _My companion is injured_ ," she said. One of them glanced at Aldamir's injured arm with regret, though Areth overlooked it. " _He has been poisoned by a plant native to the Woodland realm. Will you not help us?_ "

" _Indeed, we offer you our aid_ ," one of them said. He was quick to act and instantly took Aldamir from Areth's hold. " _Ernil will lead you to our King's halls, but I will get there quickly if I were to hasten._ "

Areth was close to interjecting. Instinctively, she was about to grab for her bow, but was quick to remind herself that she was among allies. Before she could say anything, however, the unnamed Silvan Elf had disappeared with her companion.

Ernil lowered his head in a slight apology to the woman. "I gather that you do not trust us," he said in the Common Tongue. His accent was odd against the Westron language, as if his voice was far too smooth for the rough tongue of the common people. "But fear not, Lady Areth. Lord Aldamir will be safe in the hands of our King."

"Forgive me for thinking otherwise," she said drily, glancing at the elf from her peripheral vision.

"No, I understand," said he with no trace of contempt, "The people of the Woodland Realm have since grown wary of strangers, but King Thranduil is not unkind. You will be treated well."

Areth's new companion looked from her to the shadowed trees of the forest, his eyes keen and searching.

"It would be best if we travel quickly."


	2. Of the Elvenking

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A slightly edited version of what I had published in Fanfic.net.

When her heart had finally calmed, the extent of her weariness hit her all too suddenly. The wave of nausea from exhaustion and dehydration was strong as it collided with her consciousness—a deadly combination, she knew. Try as she might to hide it, Areth's pace lagged and her movements sluggish as she was led by her Silvan guide Ernil.

The Elf was not blind to her struggle. Although his fair face remained impassive, he had inquired about her well-being. With only the raise of his brow to indicate any slight bit of concern, he asked in the Common Tongue, "Are you well?"

"Fine," Areth replied in a whisper, her voice a mere breathe. It was a lie, of course. She was exhausted, hungry, and thirsty. Her mind was as burdened as her body.

The elf stared at her in a disbelieving manner. Even through the dark, he could see her as clearly as if they had been bathed in sunlight, and from that alone, he knew that Areth was not, as she said, fine. Her exhaustion showed by the manner in which she walked—uncoordinated and sluggish.

"I apologize—I would offer you water to relieve you from dehydration, but I was not far from the gates. I did not expect to encounter anyone other than my kin."

"Do not worry, Ernil. I have endured worst."

Still, she had her pride, Ernil knew. That and the fact that Areth did not fully trust him, which he could not fault her for, considering that his companion did shoot an arrow at her sickly friend. The celerity in which he took Aldamir from Areth's hands and into the direction of the Elvenking's home was most likely due to the guilt of having shot at a man delirious with poison.

During Ernil's silent contemplation, Areth merely pulled her hood securely about her head, hiding the strands of hair that escaped. Not even a guide could make her feel any safer in this cursed forest. She felt a slight sadness as she stared at the ripped edge. It was her best cloak.

Despite being coated in days of accumulating dirt, her hair still shone when exposed to light. It was such a bother, especially when trying to evade her enemies, for it was too noticeable and was a dead giveaway of her location. The hue and length was so very similar to those of the Sindar Elves—perhaps this time, possessing such hair gave her an advantage with her allies.

Areth's footing faltered and, as in the nature of the Elves, Ernil's keen eyes did not miss it.

"Perhaps I… can be of assistance?" Ernil asked, his deep, smooth voice like a steady stream of water against the Common Language. His light eyes stared at her in an odd mixture of curiosity and uncertainty, as if he was not sure if it were appropriate to ask.

" _Avo 'osto_ ," she uttered quietly in his tongue. As kindly as she had said it, there was a hint of impatience in her voice. "I am not dying, Ernil."

" _Goheno nin_ ," Ernil apologized, inclining his head slightly, "I did not mean to offend. I am concerned that you may be pushing past your limits."

"It matters not," Areth said tiredly, "It appears that we have reached the gates of your Hall."

And so they reached the tall, thin doors that lead to the Great Elven King's Hall.

A great throne under the hill was where the King of the Woodland Realm wandered. A dwelling as beautiful as those who resided in its territory, King Thranduil's domain was a sacred ground, for it was the only place left in the Forest in which safety was a firm assurance.

As the two entered, they were greeted by two of the Mirkwood guards that stood stiff on either sides of the entryway. Heavily armored, they stood tall and firm. Even despite the lower portion of his face draped in dark mail, Areth could see the guard on her right looked at her critically before turning his light eyes upon her companion, as if expecting an explanation.

" _Gi suilon_ ," Ernil merely said, inclining his head slightly in greeting. He met the cool, blue eyes of the guard without a flinch.

" _It is rather curious that two humans are brought upon the Halls of our king barely scathed_ ," he said in Sindarin. His voice was deeper than that of Ernil, and also far more indifferent. The guard's head then tilted slightly, the metal tinkling and shifting along with his movement. " _Barely_ ," he emphasized as he was reminded of the bloodied companion. " _But I suppose it is a miracle in itself to have survived from our Woods."_

The small hint of wonder in his voice seemed to evaporate with his next words.

" _Why are they here, Ernil? These humans are not welcome in the sacred halls of Green_ -"

" _I would be careful with what I say next if I were you, mellon_ ," Ernil cautioned light-heartedly, only with a hint of underlying warning as he glanced mildly at his quiet companion. Areth seemed to notice.

"It matters not," she dismissed in the Common Tongue, her voice but a mere mutter.

Areth did not have the energy to ponder over proper etiquette in Sindarin and so she said only what she could in a more familiar language—blunt enough to be listened to but polite enough to avoid hostility. She did not think that she had any patience left to spare.

"Let us continue on," she said. 

" _Excuse us_ ," Ernil said smoothly, walking past the guards. He urged his companion to follow.

Only when they were away from hearing range did her guide try to speak.

"I am sorry about him," Ernil said sincerely, "As I said, the people of our realm had long-"

"-Since grow wary of strangers," Areth uttered for him. She raised glove-clad hand and waved it away in a dismissing manner. " _Avo 'osto_. Do not fret, Ernil. I am not offended, nor do I think any less of the Wood Elves of Greenwood for one guard's behavior."

Ernil merely inclined his head slightly once again and did not press any more on the subject, though he did glance at her curiously. It almost seemed as if she was used to such treatment. From the Silvan hunter's short acquaintanceship with the mortal woman, he gathered that she was well-traveled, for not only did she speak Sindarin with a Western dialect, but her clothing indicated the different customs of different parts of the land. Her Sindarin speech was not flawless, however. Though she spoke in a dialect similar to those near to the seas, there was a hint of something else. 

"It is fortunate that you and your companion were so near our home," Ernil said, "If we were but a few days from the Gates, I would not be able to guarantee anything regarding the welfare of your friend."

He may not have known it, but despite the fact that Ernil was merely stating an observation, it calmed Areth to an extent. Her shoulders loosened from an involuntary tension.

Soon, the Elf and guide found themselves facing a long, winding path.

Areth found her breath stolen from her as her green eyes looked up.

Even her exhaustion could not prevent her from admiring the beauty that was the Halls of King Thranduil. Surely, it was spacious and fit well for the Silvan King of Old. A long winding pathway of wood trailed from where they stood to the distance of what Areth correctly assumed sat the throne of King Thranduil himself. An ethereal glow of amber casted itself upon their heads and it seemed not to make a shadow. Such a majestic wonder was the Woodland Realm—the winding wooden steps and pillars seemed to speak of its majestic beauty and its servitude to nature.

As they took their first step towards the throne, Ernil could not help but cast a small smile as he observed the breath of his companion being stolen away by sheer beauty. It seemed that some things were able to surprise her yet.

Areth seemed to notice. Instead of hiding her evident awe as Ernil expected, she sent him a half-hearted smile. Small as it was, it seemed to bring more light than any flame could to a shadow, for it held more sincerity that any fire ever could.

Ernil's smile faltered and blue eyes softened, as if looking past her to a distant memory. Seeing this, her smile dropped suddenly. Areth turned her head towards the winding path, her light hair moving to cover her face, and moved ahead.

From the distance, only Ernil was aware of the light narrowed eyes that seemed to pierce through his companion.

* * *

 

It seemed to be hours for Areth before they reached the final steps that led to the throne. Though she felt it enough time to bask in the beauty that was the Hidden Hall under the Hill, her exhaustion was relentless, for it seemed to steal away her better consciousness. Areth was not so disoriented enough to miss her step as she walked the winding path, but she did feel an irrational irritability at the sheer indirectness of the trail.

Soon enough, the flat steps made from the branches of the trees opened into a wide platform. Like everything else in the Hall, it was a mass made of wood that was held high from the hill's pits by the intricate patterns of the trees. From there, the steps ascended to the heart of the Hill—the Elven King's throne.

Areth and Ernil walked along the platform before the King, with Ernil's steps muffled completely compared to Areth's, who, despite her lightness of footing, could hear the echoes of her own shoes. The two stopped before the ground could reach its ascent to the seat.

Cold blue eyes seemed to pierce shadowed green.

Areth fought past her exhaustion to keep the King's gaze. As custom of the Wood Elves, the wanderer quickly lowered her eyes and inclined her head before placing a hand upon her breast as sign of peace. As custom of her people, she bowed on one knee, but raised herself to a standing position before the King permitted it.

" _El sila erin lu e-govaned vin, Melda Tar_ ," Areth said automatically, her stare returning to the keen eyes of the King. Her reverence was only half sincere, but as it was the proper Elvish custom, she did not want to be disrespectful. 

While she did not trust the elves east of the Misty Mountains as much as she did those of Imladris, Areth was thankful that they were healing her companion to their abilities. Whether or not they were welcomed, however, remained to be seen.

The King leaned forward on his throne in slight interest as he regarded the human woman. Tilting his head in mild curiosity and in suppressed wonder, the grip of his long, bejeweled fingers seemed to tighten on the wooden arms of his throne. His cold eyes seemed to brighten against the soft, amber light that emanated from the torches.

The intensity of the King's gaze was powerful, almost to the point of intimidating. It was unyielding and unforgiving, much like a harsh winter. Had she been any other, Areth surely would have shielded from his searching eyes, but to do so was not in her character. The wanderer did not like kings. Her green eyes remained strong, as a small action to challenge the power of a monarch.

The Elven King, like all elves, was fair. His face was beautiful and young, his skin as light and flawless as an everlasting white rose's petal. The pale yellow of his long hair was befitting for a Sindar of his high status. However, Areth had long since been affected by the natural beauty of appearances.

What belied Thranduil's youthful façade was the depth of his cerulean eyes. They were a pair of light jewels that spoke of centuries of life, death, knowledge, and sorrow. No longer did the light blue of his irises shine with the vigor of youth, but of the haunted shadow of burdens. 

"Curious, is it not?" said Thranduil in the Common Tongue, his dark brow raising slightly as he regarded her. His gaze shifted, and Areth found it so strange that his attention seemed to be more on her pale hair. "Never would I have imagined a mere mortal to find the path to my domain. A human woman, at that."

Ernil internally flinch, the only outward evidence of his concern coming from the slight twitch of his brow. With a quick glance at his companion, he saw that Areth held her usual expression of indifference in place. If anything, her forest gaze seemed to have grown colder.

"I apologize for not exceeding your expectations, my Lord," Areth uttered drily, with only a hint of irritation. Seeming to realize what she said, her green eyes widened slightly and she inclined her head in slight rue. Now was not the time to lose her composure to exhaustion.

Ernil's gaze shifted to his king as he waited in silent trepidation. The King was not known for his tolerance, and the guard knew that it was even shorter with strangers. A harmless comment it may have been, but it demonstrated a lack of proper respect, no matter how small.

To his mild surprise, the edge of King Thranduil's lip lifted slightly in wry amusement, successfully bringing his expression from the indifference that Ernil was so used to. Areth did not notice, as her gaze was drawn to the polished wood of the hall.

Tilting his head once more, King Thranduil rose from the seat of his throne and slowly descended, caressing the twisted carvings of the antlers that surrounded him with the tip of a forefinger. With each muffled step, he came closer to Areth. The wanderer only lifted her gaze when the King's shoes and long robe swept to her view. Lithe was his frame and tall was his stature, for Areth's height only came to his chest.

"That is not a reason to apologize for," he uttered softly, that shadow of a smile still in place. It looked more menacing than assuring, she noted warily. Leaning down slightly to reach the level of her green eyes, Thranduil continued with the same gentle lilt, "After all, I always find myself enjoying surprises."

Areth tried not to flinch at their close proximity.

Straightening his posture, allowing a gap to form between him and the wanderer, he let the expression drop from his face and once more, he returned to being the King of Mirkwood. His voice deep and even, he continued, "Such as your knowledge of Sindarin—I found that rather surprising, especially when you spoke with the Western dialect."

Areth merely inclined her head in acknowledgement, though said nothing more. She feared that her tongue would betray her once more and found safety in silence. And, perhaps, she did not wish to speak to this King any longer, for she found him so very strange in his manners. Never before had she met an elf who elicited such a presence.

"I invite you to speak freely in my halls," Thranduil said. He swept a hand adorned with rings about his domain, allowing the arm of his loose robe to trail after his sudden movement, his stare unbreakable. "You have nothing to fear."

Areth's mouth opened, as if to speak, but really, she found no words. She was silent by nature and often had little to say, save for the very few that held her friendship. Anything that she could possibly conjure up for this King would be but empty words.

Finally, she said, "I am Areth and my sickly companion is Aldamir of Gondor."

"Areth," he repeated quietly, deliberately, his voice like a dangerous caress. The King raised a single, thick brow. "Do you hail from nowhere? You did not fail to mention your companion's homeland and yet omitted the name of your own."

"I hail from Rohan, but I would not go so far as to call it my home."

"And why is that?" he asked. The King clasped his hands behind his back, his lithe fingers tracing the ornament of his ring.

A frown adorned Areth's lips, and her eyes lowered to the ground. "Home is lost to me."

His brow raised higher, his fair face morphing into curiosity. "Your allegiance is not pledged to your king?"

"I do not pledge myself to tyrants," she uttered, as if she had been asked a million times previously.

And that was their conversation.

Always, the wanderer spoke, but never fully answered and always, the Elvenking asked, but never sought to inquire on what she would not willingly give. It was as if she did not wish to give too much away—as if she did not trust him. And Thranduil supposed that she didn't, especially if Areth was acquainted with the Elves of the West. 

After a moment of silence, the King moved away from Areth and towards the ascension of his throne. The bottom of his long, silk wrap glided over the polished wood of the stairs. With his back turned from her, Areth regained the feeling of being able to breath. Ernil noticed and took amusement in it, though it quickly dropped and his face became a blank look once again as soon as the King took his seat.

Crossing his legs with swiftness and drumming his fingers over the arm of his throne, he allowed himself a moment to simply gaze at his guest's pale hair before once again moving on to her green irises.

"A tyrant, indeed," the he murmured softly. Regarding her with half-lidded eyes, he sought to introduce himself properly. "I am Thranduil," he uttered, his voice deep and once again deliberate, "King of the Woodland Realm." Resting his head on his palm as he regarded her, he then added wryly, "Or, perhaps, the tyrant of Mirkwood, if you wish to call me so."

Areth inclined her head and said nothing more.

Suddenly, he straightened himself and his voice strengthened, and he was the King once more.

"Ernil will lead you to the guest hall."

The said elf bowed in acquiesce.

"That will not be necessary, King Thranduil," she interjected with a small shake of her head. The Elvenking's brow raised in slight. As a sort of explanation, she said, "You need not trouble yourself on my account. I will be content to rest with my companion."

"You mistrust us so," he uttered softly, almost inaudibly. Strengthening his voice so that it was audible beyond Ernil's keen hearing, he then said, "The mortal will be well taken care of, I give you my word. Or does your resentment for the crown cause you to doubt the promise of a king?"

"I never said I resented the crown," she interjected in her defense. "Unless my Lord acknowledges himself a tyrant, then I do not understand why you take my comment to heart. Rohan is a different matter. I will not bring any sort of uninformed conclusion to a realm that I know nothing of." She could not resist and said unthinkingly, dryly, "Though, my opinion hardly matters as I am, after all, a mere mortal woman."

The edge of Thranduil's lip lifted slightly. Finally, she spoke.

Ernil quietly observed from the side. Long had the feeling of trepidation of his King's reaction passed, replaced then by mild curiosity. From the subtle changes in the Elven King's demeanor, even by the slightest raise of his lip or the widening of his blue eyes, Ernil knew that their thoughts regarding the wanderer followed the same direction.

Leaning most of his weight on the left side of his intricate throne, regarding her with the same piercing gaze, he said, "Very well. The room is at your disposal should you wish it. Ernil will lead you to the healing chambers."

Areth sealed her lips and bowed in gratitude. In fear of saying anything else that she may later regret, she turned on her heel and walked the even path of the winding branches without waiting for her elven guide. Her boots pattered against the wood. So brisk and sudden was her movement that her hair and cloak trailed behind her.

His gaze not once breaking from the movements of her shining hair, King Thranduil regarded the wanderer with half-lidded eyes filled with intrigue as his ringed forefinger curled under his pale lip.

Just as Ernil began to follow after Areth, Thranduil said softly in the smooth tongue of his kin, "Make sure she is well taken care of."

Glancing back briefly, Ernil merely nodded.

_Curious, indeed._

* * *

 

Areth could finally breathe properly when she was no longer in the presence of the King. From the moment she turned, she could feel the intense, lingering stare of Thranduil follow her until she was completely hidden from his keen eyes by the pillars of the next room. It unnerved her. _He_ unnerved her.

It was a miracle how she kept the façade of her usual indifference in proper place, let alone speak so boldly before the Elven King. She feared that she might have been too presumptuous, and yet she saw that he took amusement from it.

The wanderer had heard of the words and whispers that accompanied the name of King Thranduil during her visits to Imladris. Cold, they called him. She particularly remembered the words of a close friend: "If the world was to burn," he said, "the Elven King of Mirkwood would not give a damn so long as his domain lived peacefully in its ashes."

And yet, not one of them had spoken of Thranduil's peculiarity. No one spoke of the passion in his every word, nor the unpredictability of his manners.

She entered his Halls knowing what to expect, and yet upon meeting this King—this king that was meant to be cold and indifferent—she was met instead with an elf with such a demanding presence that wanted nothing more than a pleasant exchange of words.

In Areth's eyes, Thranduil was so very strange.

Areth shook her head and pulled her cloak tighter about her body. She did not expect to see much of Thranduil, which she was slightly thankful for. She did not like having to bowdlerize the honesty in her words for the sake of proper etiquette.

 


	3. Of Wariness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It seemed that Thranduil was as wary of her as she was of him.

The whole of the Elven King's Hall seemed to be tied together by intertwining roots of the surrounding trees that emerged from the earth's soil. It was a wonder, indeed, for it seemed to protect the realm like a great fortress from the shadows that overtook the entire of the domain. Never would an outsider have imagined a hidden light inside the darkness that was Mirkwood.

The ethereal glow of the soft amber light followed the winding path, seeming to lead them to their destination.

The walk to the Healing Room was silent, however. It was rather strange to Areth that they had yet to encounter a single soul within the walls of their path.

While Areth did not particularly mind the quiet, she knew that Ernil had something to say, or else he would not keep glancing at her in that peculiar fashion as much as he did. Every few moments, he would open his mouth, as if to speak, only to close it again before looking away. Ever since they had left the throne room, Areth could feel the familiar sensation of being watched. Though tame compared to the burning eyes of his liege, it could not be so easily dismissed considering the fact that Ernil had not bothered to be discreet.

Areth was willing to hear whatever it was that her Elven companion had to say, and yet, he seemed unable to make a resolve.

Already, though, Areth had an inkling as to what it was he wanted to voice. Still, she let him ponder his thoughts. She was tired, and would not be the first to initiate conversation. 

Not even the mystical beauty of Eryn Lasgalen could take from her the feeling of weariness. Her eyes already shadowed from sleep depravation, Areth felt about ready to sleep where she stood. Her limbs ached and her eyes felt heavy, though she was thankful that the dull throbbing on her temples derived from dehydration finally passed. However, despite feeling the terrible repercussions of self-neglect, Areth knew that she would not be able to sleep peacefully without knowing that Aldamir was healed and in safe hands. The paranoia from being in that wretched forest had yet to leave her. 

And so, they trudged along the wooden paths built by the Silvan Elves of the realm. 

Areth saw a narrow doorway framed by twisting branches that rooted from the ground. Much like everything else in the Woodland Realm, it emanated life. Running a gloved hand on the twisting pillars' smooth surface, she could feel the energy that was at peace within the halls.

Just as Areth was about to step beneath the arch of the pathway, Ernil's quiet voice stopped her.

"In the future, I would caution you against acting impertinently when regarding King Thranduil," he uttered quite solemnly, his voice depicting the accent of his mother tongue.

Turning her head from her path to face her Silvan companion, Areth regarded Ernil silently, contemplatively. She allowed him a moment to continue. When only silence had passed and it was evident that he would not resume, Areth turned to face him fully. Speaking as quietly as she could, for her voice seemed to reverberate about the enclosed hall, she said, "Is that all you wanted to say, Ernil?"

The tone of her voice indicated that she did not mean it unkindly. The Silvan Elf seemed to understand that.

Clasping his pale hands behind his back, Ernil inclined his head.

"I do not wish to cause you offense," Ernil uttered rather slowly and deliberately, as if searching for the proper words, "but I feel that this must be said."

"Then speak freely, my friend, and say what you must," she said. Finding that her strength had fled, Areth sought support from the frame of the doorway and leaned her back against it. She felt the bulge of her bow press against her through the cushioning of her cloak.

"At your insistence," said the Silvan guard, holding his palm to his breast. His eyes held a strange solemn glint that the wander was not familiar with—a sort of glint that reminded Areth that she was a child in years in the eyes of her acquaintance. "My King Thranduil is not known for welcoming strangers into his realm. In fact, for the safety of his people, he often keeps our Halls hidden from outsiders. I can tell you now that you and your companion are the first welcomed visitors that have entered our halls since a long while."

Areth lowered her eyes and raised a glove-clad hand to halt his speech. "You depict our arrival as if it were a sort of rare phenomenon," she uttered with no short amount of cynicism, "I have asked you to speak freely. My friend, do not pretend that our welcome into your realm is anything more than what it truly is. You and I both know that we were only well received because your companion made the unfortunate mistake of injuring Aldamir."

Ernil was taken aback by her honest, blunt response. This was not how he wanted their conversation to turn. However, he also felt the slight sting of the mortal's rather harsh opinion. To be accused such a selfish motivation for kindness was an undeniable insult. Not only did he feel the indignation on behalf of his people, but on behalf of his King.

He made no claim to neither agree nor disagree with the mortal's accusation, though his posture stiffened even so slightly. His voice taking on the attitude of strictness and forced calm of a Mirkwood guard, he uttered coolly, "Regardless, you are in the halls of my King. You have no love for the throne from my understanding, but I would advise you to show nothing but utter gratitude to your host."

A moment of silence passed. It was broken only by the mortal's soft sigh. Areth's green eyes seemed to glaze over with rue.

"Forgive me, my friend," she uttered, the lilt of her voice quiet and conciliating. She ran a gloved hand through her long hair in unspoken frustration. "My mind has been deprived of true rest, and though that does not excuse my ill behavior, please know that the King has nothing but my thanks."

The Silvan elf nodded slowly in acceptance, and the hard expression on his light eyes seemed to evaporate as his stiff posture visibly loosened. Regarding the wanderer curiosity rather than in offense, he said, "Have we done something to make you doubt the sincerity of our welcome?"

"No, of course not," she uttered quickly, shaking his head, "The King was nothing if not generous, and you, kind."

"Then you have merely lost hope that people would show a willing kindness without incentive."

"I did not say that," Areth said defensively, unconsciously crossing her arms before her chest.

Ernil regarded her contemplatively, his light gaze without judgment. A moment had passed which led the elf's thoughts nowhere, as her heart was as guarded as her forest eyes.

"Well," he uttered, the one single word coming out almost as a sigh of defeat. His entire face lit up by a small smile, he then said, "Let us carry on, then. While you are anxious to see your companion, it would not hurt to get yourself cleaned up first."

Pushing herself from the pillar, Areth raised a single brow at the Silvan guard.

"Now, I was not suggesting anything by it, my friend," he said, placating. Placing a palm on her shoulder, Ernil steered Areth through the arch. "But I think you would appreciate the feeling of cleanliness after days bathed in filth."

She shook her head good-naturedly and allowed him to lead the way. After all, she felt too exhausted to refute. Also, the thought of a nice bath was far too tempting of a thought to dismiss. 

* * *

"And what of her companion?"

The Sindar's steps were mild and lingering as he paced about the expanse of the platform below his intricate throne. He held a presence about him that simply demanded to be noticed without a single utterance. The absence of the crown adorned with autumn leaves made no impact at all to hinder the authority that he commanded.

"He is weak, my Lord, and so has yet to awaken," the guard replied as he stood still and tall before his pacing liege.

"Tell me about the woman— _Areth_ ," the Elven King uttered softly, tightening the grip on his wooden staff as his blue eyes wandered about the expanse of the room, "You have spent much time with her."

"She is… She is rather wary. It is as if she expects us to double-cross her at any given moment. She claims that we only welcomed her because Arphen made the mistake of injuring her companion."

Thranduil shifted his light stare to the guard with a thick brow raised as he paused. "But it is true, is it not? Rarely do we ever welcome inexplicit wanderers to enter the sacred borders of our realm," he uttered truthfully, if not rather harshly without intention. His expression darkened. _Not since the darkening of Eryn Lasgalen._

Ernil silently disagreed with him. Cold as he believed himself to be, the guard did not think that King Thranduil would cast out an injured traveler were it in his power to help.

His steps continued to circle about the platform. "I expect that she does not regard me in the best of light."

Ernil paused, shifting slightly from where he stood. While he did not want to outright proclaim Areth's thoughts to the Elven King, as the Silvan guard felt that whatever the mortal said should be kept in his confidence, he could do little for prevention should the King ask.

"I do not think that she holds anything against you, my King," Ernil uttered slowly, his words carefully considered, "but she flinches every time I mention a ruler."

The King was quick to note of Ernil's reluctance, but did not press him. After all, he already knew that the wary mortal was not fond of him. Rarely anyone was upon their first meeting. 

"Or perhaps she simply does not trust the Silvan Elves of Greenwood," said Thranduil. He would not blame her if it were so. Even  _he_ regarded them with wariness. He would not at all be surprised by their unkind whispers of the different customs in the Woodland Realm. 

"That may also be true. Perhaps it was due to her time in Imladris."

"Have you gathered why she is here?" the King steered the subject.

Ernil lowered his head. "No. I apologize. I did not ask, for I felt that she would not tell me even if I had done so."

The King curled a jewel-adorned finger beneath his pale lip as his half-lidded eyes stared in quiet contemplation. "Still," he said mildly, "I commend her honesty. I imagine that you are more likely to garner such truth from her than if I were to speak to her. Her tongue remains cautious when addressing her host."

The Silvan guard did not reply but merely inclined his head slightly in acknowledgement.

Thranduil waved a jewel-adorned hand dismissively.

"It matters not," he said, "I will find the reason one way or another. Return to your duties beyond our borders, Ernil. You are dismissed."

Ernil bowed. Turning from where he stood, he walked the first step of the route to leave from the throne room. His step faltered, however. The King, noticing that the guard had stopped, regarded him with cool, questioning eyes as he, too, stopped just as he was ascending the steps of his throne.

Seeming to hesitate in voicing his words, Ernil's eyes lowered slightly. "Forgive me, my Lord, if I speak too boldly," he uttered softly, "But Areth-"

Having already anticipated the Silvan guard's words, the King raised a pale hand adorned with shining rings to halt his speech, inadvertently reminding Ernil slightly of the mortal at question, for she had done the same thing merely a few moments ago. The action was not unkind, nor was it dismissive, but was made for the simple intention of stopping the guard from speaking further.

Words felt unnecessary, as Thranduil's cerulean eyes seemed to speak for him. Calm and stoic was the Elven King's expression, and yet, those blue eyes spoke of deep thoughts that were ineffable in any tongue created on Middle-earth. One glance at those eyes told Ernil that his King had long before come to the same thought as he did.

"You are dismissed, Ernil," he repeated, his voice even and impassive.

Bowing, the Silvan Elf bowed in acquiesce.

"As you wish, my Lord."

* * *

The hour grew darker.

Despite her previous exhaustion, Areth awoke only after a few hours of rest. Her body felt stiff and sore as she moved on the small chair that sat beside Aldamir's bed, and her limbs felt far too heavy than was natural.

The wanderer sighed. She was tired, still, but she knew that she would not be able to return back to slumber. Despite knowing the temporary haven that the Woodland realm brought, being in an unfamiliar surrounding gave her a sense of unease. Furthermore, she still felt the slight repercussions brought on by being a hired guide—the seemingly perpetual alertness had yet to leave her.

Instead, she reclined against her seat's back and crossed her ankles before her almost leisurely. She gently traced patterns on her unusually bare palm, pale from the lack of exposure and calloused from hard work. For a moment, she allowed her mind to quieten from deep thoughts and she contented herself with the simple task of thinking shallowly. 

The Healing Rooms were empty, for there were none injured save for her sleeping companion. The Silvan healer that was called had long since left Aldamir to recover naturally, for there was none else they could have done further but wait.

When her green eyes glancing over the scholar, Areth duly noted that he was cleaned of the grime and dirt that coated his skin from their many days spent within the Forest. His old clothes which had been made bearing the sigil of his realm were replaced by the fine cloth worn by the elven-kind. Her eyes lingered on his hands. Cleaned from the stain of dark crimson and wrapped neatly with strips of bandages, Areth felt the heaviness that weighed over her shoulders lift considerably.  The Elves had cared for Aldamir well.

Areth slowly rose from the seat, using the wooden arm as leverage, for her body had yet to gain its full strength. She then stretched her stiff muscles. Straightening the dress she wore offered to her by her elven host, Areth sat down once again before lifting her feet bare of her shoes on the seat and wrapping her arms around her knees.

As she could do nothing else but wait for Aldamir to recover, Areth used the time given to her to contemplate a plan on what they would do beyond the borders of Mirkwood. She knew with no doubt that Aldamir would want to stay within the Elven King's halls until he deemed his work finished. As a hired guide, Areth would see to Aldamir's plans, but she knew that she could not impose on their host's welcome.

From Mirkwood, Areth would guide the scholar to Esgaroth or Dale and from there, the two would part ways.

However, this unexpected turn of events no doubt hindered the wanderer's initial plans, as more time would then be wasted. Areth ran a hand through her long hair and rested the side of her head against the arm of her chair. 

Her arms loosened about her bent legs and her eyes lidded over her irises as she felt the slight desire to rest. Areth blinked once, but saw a slight shift in the light that emanated from the doorway—as if a shadow had passed through. That alone brought her the sense of wakefulness and in an instant, her mind became alert.

Areth did not move from her position, however. Instead, she waited.

Soon enough, the shadow became much clearer, for their silhouette came closer and closer. Had she not caught a glimpse of the moving shadow, Areth knew that she would have been taken by surprise, for his steps made no sound to indicate his arrival.

"If your purpose is to frighten me, Ernil, then you are doing a poor job," she said in good nature, her voice lowering for the sake of her resting companion.

"I did not know that you were expecting Ernil," a low voice uttered, his tone even, "Had I been aware, I would not have sent him to patrol our borders."

The deep, smooth lilt was all too familiar.

That alone startled Areth into swiftness, for she quickly brought her bare feet on the ground and rose.

Before her stood the Elven King, his chin raised and his fair face impassive. His cerulean eyes were half-lidded and contemplative as they regarded Areth, and she almost felt the impulse to straighten her dress and the length of her tresses due to the sheer unease he brought her. His robes were unchanged, for they were the same deep maroon that matched the serenity of his realm, and his shining pale hair traveled down due to its sheer length. The King seemed almost misplaced in the healing room, as if it could not hold the majesty that the King's presence brought.

The shadow of humor that was once on the mortal's face was quick to vanish upon his arrival and she bowed her head, her long hair framing her face and almost touching her knees. Gone was her relaxed countenance, for when she rose, her face became guarded.

It did not escape Thranduil's notice. His eyes narrowed ever so lightly before his features returned to its unreadable façade. Moving across the expanse of the healing room, his pace lingering, the King stopped when only a short distance away from Areth. He seemed almost amused as he watched her face shift into a subtle expression of wariness.

"King Thranduil," she uttered uncertainly, her voice guarded, if not questioning. Indeed, she never would have expected to see the Elven King so soon after their first meeting. She assumed that he seldom saw his guests after introduction, let alone visited them personally.

The King made no further utterance and instead regarded her with haunted eyes and an indescribable look about his face. She had cleaned herself well, for no longer was she coated in dirt and sweat. Away from the dark clothing of a traveler and in a dress of deep green, with the long, golden hair, she could have easily been mistaken for someone he once knew. 

He shut his eyes briefly. He looked to Areth as if he were chastising himself, for he shook his head slightly in such a manner. When the moment had passed, the King's face was as blank and fair as it had always been, and yet his glazed cerulean eyes betrayed it as a mere pretense.

"I trust that you have found yourself well accommodated," the King uttered finally, breaking the silence. His gaze seemed to shift from her hair to the fading scratch on her cheek before finally resting on her eyes.

"Yes, of course," she managed to say tersely. Areth did not mean to sound so acerbic, and yet her words came out much sharper than she intended. As a sort of reprieve, the woman inclined her head slightly, lowering her gaze, before adding softly, "You have welcomed us into your halls without question, and for that, I am thankful."

Thranduil regarded her with the countenance of one who was tired of deceit. His half-lidded eyes were piercing and disbelieving. Clasping his hands behind his back, he then said, his voice much stronger, "Did I not say to speak freely within my halls? Or has your sharp tongue fled with your quick wit?"

Areth's green eyes flashed briefly and on the King's lips formed what could be seen as a shadow of a smile. This odd King—she did not understand him. The mortal did not know whether he simply provoked her out of the sheer enjoyment of seeing her rise or because of the mere sense of entitlement of being able to speak however he wanted.

Whatever it may be, Areth would be cautious, as she now held a better grasp of her consciousness after her brief rest. She would have to watch her words, as whatever carelessness she uttered would be her later regret.

"The wit is still quick but the tongue confined," she uttered. Inclining her head to the Elven King, she continued, "Forgive me for my earlier impudence. I was not in my right mind."

"I imagine that you do not often seek forgiveness for such minor offenses. Is this Ernil's doing?" the King said evenly, if not dryly.

"He might have played a part."

As she said this, Thranduil could see the corner of her lip turn upward slightly in humor. His sharp features relaxed.

"And now it is my turn to apologize," he said. He took wry amusement in the way her impassive expression morphed into an unconcealed surprise. He continued, "As a king, it is my duty to take responsibility over the actions of my ward."

"I assume you speak of my companion's wounds," Areth said evenly. She distanced herself from the King and took her place by the resting Aldamir's side. "The apology has little meaning to me."

The King's eyes widened a fraction, his cerulean eyes flashing. _Oh, she was impudent._

Seeming to realize her words as she caught a glimpse of his expression, she added quickly, "I simply do not believe that the apology is meant for me."

This seemed to pacify the King, as his expressive features once again turned calm and even.

"Then I have said all that I must."

The wanderer's eyes narrowed slightly. Quickly, swiftly, she quipped thoughtlessly, "I very much doubt that. Rarely do kings visit with such an innocent purpose as _apologizing_."

The edge of Thranduil's lip twisted into a smirk. Unconsciously tracing the outline of a ring from behind his back, he strode forward idly, his steps lingering and deliberate. Areth's gaze narrowed slightly but she refused to move, even when the King lowered his face to meet her eyes evenly.

She was no stranger to intimidation. Areth tried hard not to flinch at his proximity. Garnering even the slightest reaction from her would no doubt be admitting defeat.

"Perceptive"—his head tilted in slight as he spoke deliberately—"Wary"—his voice a quiet hiss—" _Presumptuous_."

The Elven King's face was merely an inch away from hers. Areth could almost feel the ice of his piercing gaze despite the warmth of his breath. She was given a clear view of his face, fair and young despite his centuries of life. She nearly sighed in relief when the King distanced himself from her, but contained herself, if not to conceal the fact that the Sindar undeniably unnerved her.

As if commending, he uttered finally, his voice taking his usual smooth lilt of evenness, "Honest."

And then, he continued, "But you are correct in assuming otherwise. My purpose lies beyond frivolous and rather artificial apologies." He paused then, glancing at the mortal from the corner of his half-lidded eyes. When she remained silent, he continued, "I want to know why you and your companion travel though my realm without leave. What exactly do you wish to accomplish by entering my domain?"

Had Areth not held her tongue, she would have said, "Is it a crime to do so?" However, it would be in her best interest to know her place, as Ernil had wisely cautioned. The wanderer was only beginning to learn that King Thranduil did not have a great patience to tolerate many things. It was evident that she was merely grazing past the borders.

Instead, she inclined her head and spoke, her words cautious and thoughtful, "I am a mere guide to my companion, whose business in your realm is purely academic, Elvenking."

King Thranduil regarded the trespasser for a moment, but despite the intensity of his gaze, she did not falter. His light blue eyes narrowed ever so slightly before his features became blank once more. 

"I am content with your words," he said. Seeming like an afterthought, he added, "for now."

"I have no other version of the truth," she asserted.

"Indeed," Thranduil uttered dryly. "Then you can tell me nothing more."

He turned, as if to leave, but only when she was no longer in his line of vision was Areth able to breathe easily.

"I invite you to join me in the morn. For now, I will leave you to your thoughts."

King Thranduil uttered no other words and simply departed, the end of his deep robes trailing behind him. He left as silently as he came. His undefined silhouette was the only vision of Thranduil that she could see. His bejeweled hand made a slight waving gesture, and she was certain that it was not mean for her.

It seemed that Thranduil was as wary of her as she was of him.

Only when he truly left did the wanderer allow her posture to loosen. Areth exhaled a heavy breath as she dropped her weight on the seat she previously occupied. She felt exhausted.

She hoped Aldamir would awaken quickly, if only for the sake of not having to bear the weight of the Elvenking's overwhelming presence alone.


End file.
